**Watchtower, Justice League Orbital Station**
The conference room was built to hold gods.
Literally. The reinforced walls had survived Superman being thrown through them during a sparring match. The table could withstand Wonder Woman's fist when she got passionate about a point. The chairs were rated for beings whose very presence warped local gravity.
Right now, those chairs held some of the most powerful beings on Earth, all of them staring at the holographic display Hal Jordan was projecting from his ring.
Batman spoke first. "Run that by me again."
"Which part?" Hal asked. He was still in Scotland, his image flickering slightly as the hologram adjusted for distance. "The part where there's an entire secret society of magic users we didn't know about? The part where they just fought a civil war? Or the part where a seventeen-year-old wizard just bonded with the Starheart and beat a dark lord so badly that said dark lord is currently crying in a cage?"
"All of it," Batman said flatly.
Beside him, Superman leaned forward, his expression concerned. "Hal, you said casualties. How many?"
"I don't have exact numbers yet. Zatanna's doing a census with some of the local magic users—witches and wizards, they call themselves. Dozens confirmed dead. Maybe more. The battle was... extensive." Hal's face was grim. "Clark, they were fighting with medieval tactics. Wands and spells and honor duels. Against an enemy who was using dark magic that makes our worst villains look restrained. It was a massacre."
"And now one of the survivors has the Starheart," Wonder Woman said. Diana's voice was measured, but there was concern there. "Hal, Alan Scott spent *decades* learning to control that power. This boy has had it for less than an hour."
"I know. But Diana—" Hal's image shifted, and suddenly they were seeing Harry Potter. Sitting in the rubble, surrounded by friends, the Starheart glowing on his finger. Young. Exhausted. Grieving. "—he walked into a forest to die. Knew he had to die, some magical connection to the dark lord, and he did it anyway. The Starheart found him in that moment and chose him. And Diana, I watched him fight. It was raw, uncontrolled, but the *control* was there. The discipline. He wasn't letting the power use him. He was using it."
"For now," Batman said. "What happens when the adrenaline wears off? When he realizes what he's carrying? When someone threatens his friends and all that power is right there, ready to lash out?"
"Then we train him," Hal said simply. "That's what I'm proposing. Take him to Oa. Let the Corps teach him what it means to be a Green Lantern. Give him the structure and discipline he needs."
"And the Blue Lantern?" J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, spoke for the first time. His red eyes were thoughtful. "You said another ring chose during the battle."
"Luna Lovegood. Fifteen years old. Blue Lantern of Hope." Hal's expression softened slightly. "J'onn, I've never seen someone take to a ring so naturally. It's like she was born to wield it. She's... unique."
"They're children," Diana said, and there was an edge to her voice now. "Children who just fought a war. And you want to take them to space for more training? More fighting?"
"I want to give them the tools to survive what comes next," Hal countered. "Because Diana, the Starheart doesn't go dormant again. Harry Potter is a Green Lantern now. That's not changing. And whether we train him or not, threats will come. The ring draws attention. Power like that always does. So we can either prepare him for it, or we can leave him to figure it out alone."
Silence fell.
"There's something else," Zatanna's voice cut in. She appeared in the hologram beside Hal, her stage makeup smudged, her hat missing. "The prisoner. Voldemort. We need to decide what to do with him."
"The wizarding world has facilities," Batman said. "Azkaban prison was mentioned in the initial report."
"Azkaban is a joke," Zatanna said bluntly. "It's guarded by Dementors—creatures that feed on hope and happiness—and Voldemort escaped from it before. Plus, there's the political situation. The wizarding government just fell. They're in chaos. Half the population is traumatized, the other half is trying to figure out who was secretly a Death Eater, and they don't have the resources to hold someone this dangerous."
"What are you suggesting?" Superman asked.
Zatanna met his eyes through the hologram. "The Phantom Zone."
The room went very quiet.
The Phantom Zone. A dimensional prison created by Kryptonian science, existing outside normal space-time. Inescapable. Timeless. Those trapped within it could observe the universe but never interact with it, frozen in a liminal space between existence and void.
"That's for Kryptonian criminals," Superman said carefully. "World-ending threats. Are you certain—"
"Voldemort killed thousands," Zatanna interrupted. "Personally. Not counting the deaths his followers caused, not counting the two wars he started. He made himself functionally immortal through a process called creating Horcruxes—splitting his soul by committing murder and storing the pieces in objects. He's already escaped death multiple times. And he has followers who would do anything to free him." She paused. "If we put him in a normal prison, even a magical one, he'll escape eventually. Or his followers will free him. The Phantom Zone is the only place that can hold him permanently."
"The Phantom Zone is supposed to be a last resort," Diana said. "For beings too dangerous to exist in normal reality."
"Exactly," Zatanna agreed. "And Voldemort qualifies. Hal and I both agree. He needs to be removed from this plane of existence entirely."
Batman's fingers drummed on the table. "The political implications—"
"Can be managed," Zatanna said. "I've been talking with the current authority figures. Kingsley Shacklebolt—he's the head of what's left of their law enforcement—and Professor Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. They're overwhelmed. They *want* help. If the Justice League offers to take custody of Voldemort, to ensure he can never threaten anyone again, they'll agree. Probably cry with relief while doing it."
"We'd need to send representatives," Superman said slowly. "To make the request formally. To show respect for their sovereignty, even in crisis."
"I'll go," Diana said immediately. "If we're asking to take custody of their worst criminal, they deserve to negotiate with someone of rank." She looked at Clark. "Come with me? Your presence tends to calm people. And if they say no—"
"They won't say no to Superman," Hal finished. "Not when he's offering help. Yeah. Good call."
"Agreed," Batman said. "Diana, Clark, go to Hogwarts. Make the offer. If they accept, we transport Voldemort to the Phantom Zone immediately. No delays, no chances for escape." He looked at Hal. "You stay with Potter and Lovegood. Keep them stable. We'll discuss training protocols once the immediate crisis is resolved."
"Understood." Hal paused. "Bruce, these kids are heroes. They saved their world. We should remember that."
"I know," Batman said quietly. "That's what worries me. Heroes don't get to rest."
---
**Hogwarts, Headmistress's Office**
Minerva McGonagall had been Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts for longer than most of the current staff had been alive. She had survived two wars, countless student pranks, and Dolores Umbridge's brief reign of terror. She was, by any reasonable measure, unflappable.
She was flapping now.
"They want to take him WHERE?" she demanded, staring at Kingsley Shacklebolt across Dumbledore's—*her*—desk. The portraits of former headmasters were all leaning forward with interest, and Dumbledore's portrait was doing an excellent job of pretending he wasn't listening while clearly listening intently.
"The Phantom Zone," Kingsley repeated. He looked exhausted, his normally calm demeanor fraying at the edges. "A dimensional prison. Apparently it's where they keep world-ending threats. Criminals who can't be held by conventional means."
"And they think Voldemort qualifies?"
"Minerva." Kingsley's voice was very gentle. "He's already escaped Azkaban once. He's died twice and come back both times. He has Horcruxes—had Horcruxes, we think they're all destroyed now, but we're not certain. And he has followers. Bellatrix is dead, but there are others. They *will* try to free him."
Minerva sank into her chair. Around her, the Headmistress's office was a disaster—papers scattered, instruments broken, Fawkes's perch empty. The phoenix had left with Dumbledore's death and hadn't returned. She missed his song.
"The Justice League," she said slowly. "American superheroes. Muggles with powers."
"Not all muggles," Kingsley corrected. "Zatanna Zatara is homo magi—a sorceress. Different from us, but still magical. And they're not all American. Wonder Woman is from Themyscira. Superman is from Krypton. They're... international. Diverse. And Minerva, they're offering help. They want to ensure Voldemort can never hurt anyone again. Isn't that what we want?"
"Of course it is." Minerva rubbed her temples. "But handing over a wizard to muggle authorities—"
"They're not muggle authorities. They're the Justice League. They protect the entire planet. And frankly—" Kingsley's voice hardened. "—we don't have the infrastructure to hold him. The Ministry is in chaos. Half the department heads are dead or imprisoned. We're running on fumes and force of will. If the Justice League can guarantee that Voldemort will never escape, never hurt anyone again, then I say we take that offer and thank them for it."
A knock on the door interrupted them.
"Enter," Minerva called, and Zatanna Zatara stepped through, followed by two figures who made even the spacious office feel suddenly small.
Superman was exactly as tall as the photographs suggested, but photographs didn't capture the *presence* of him. The way he seemed to carry hope with him like a physical thing. The gentleness in his eyes despite the power everyone knew he possessed.
Wonder Woman was similarly striking—warrior's grace combined with diplomat's poise, her armor gleaming even in the dim light of the office. She looked like she'd stepped out of legend.
"Professor McGonagall," Superman said, and his voice was warm. "Acting Minister Shacklebolt. Thank you for seeing us. I know you're dealing with a lot right now."
"That's something of an understatement," Minerva said dryly, but she stood, offering her hand. Superman shook it carefully, as though afraid he might break her. Diana's grip was firmer, warrior to warrior.
"We'll be brief," Diana said. "We understand you have casualties to tend to and a school to rebuild. But the matter of Tom Riddle—Voldemort—needs to be addressed."
"Zatanna explained your proposal," Kingsley said. "The Phantom Zone. We're... considering it."
"May I speak plainly?" Superman asked.
Minerva gestured for him to continue.
"Voldemort is a threat that transcends your world," Superman said. "He's killed thousands. He's attempted genocide. He's created magical artifacts specifically designed to make himself immortal. And he has followers who will stop at nothing to free him." He paused. "The Justice League has experience with threats like this. We've dealt with dictators, with immortals, with beings who believe themselves above consequence. And we've learned that some criminals can't be reformed. Can't be contained by conventional means. They need to be removed entirely."
"The Phantom Zone is escape-proof," Diana added. "It exists outside normal space and time. Those trapped within it are frozen, unable to act, unable to age, unable to affect the outside world in any way. It's not pleasant. But it's permanent."
"You're asking us to condemn him to eternal imprisonment," Minerva said quietly.
"We're offering to ensure he can never hurt anyone again," Diana corrected. "Professor, I've read the reports. I know what he's done. The murders. The torture. The terror campaigns. This isn't a man who deserves a second chance. This is a monster who needs to be stopped permanently."
Minerva looked at Kingsley. The Acting Minister looked back.
"I'm inclined to agree," Kingsley said finally. "Minerva, I don't like it either. The idea of handing over one of our own to outsiders. But he stopped being 'one of our own' the moment he started murdering muggleborns. The moment he declared war on anyone who wasn't pure-blood. He made his choices. This is the consequence."
Minerva closed her eyes. Thought of all the students who had died. Of Fred Weasley's body being carried out of the castle. Of Colin Creevey, who had been too young and too brave. Of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, who had left behind an infant son.
Of Lily and James Potter, murdered in their home while trying to protect their baby.
"Very well," she said, and her voice was steady. "On behalf of the Wizengamot—what's left of it—and as Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts, I authorize the transfer of Tom Marvolo Riddle to Justice League custody. Under the condition that he be held in the most secure facility available and that he never be released under any circumstances."
"You have my word," Superman said solemnly. "And Diana's. And the League's. He'll be transferred to the Phantom Zone tonight. He'll never threaten anyone again."
"Thank you," Kingsley said, and he sounded like he meant it. "Truly. We're... we're not equipped for this. For threats on this scale. Voldemort pushed us to the breaking point. If the Justice League is willing to help shoulder that burden—"
"That's what we're here for," Diana said. "To protect people. All people. Magical or not."
"There is one other matter," Superman said carefully. "Harry Potter. And Luna Lovegood."
Minerva's expression sharpened. "What about them?"
"They're Power Ring wielders now," Zatanna explained. "The Starheart chose Harry. A Blue Lantern ring chose Luna. That makes them part of something bigger than just the wizarding world. And they need training. Proper training, with the Corps."
"Absolutely not," Minerva said immediately. "Mr. Potter has been through enough. He deserves to rest, to recover, to be a normal student—"
"Professor, with respect, Harry Potter stopped being a normal student the moment Voldemort marked him," Superman said gently. "And now he's carrying one of the most powerful artifacts in the universe. The Starheart doesn't switch off. It doesn't take breaks. Every moment he's wearing that ring, he's in danger—from people who want to steal it, from his own inexperience, from threats he doesn't even know exist yet."
"Then we'll protect him," Minerva said firmly.
"How?" Diana asked, not unkindly. "Professor, I mean no disrespect to your capabilities or your school's defenses. But Harry Potter is now on the radar of cosmic-level threats. Beings who can move between stars. Who can shatter planets. Who see a Green Lantern ring and immediately want to claim it for themselves." She leaned forward. "The Green Lantern Corps can teach him to defend himself. To use his power responsibly. To survive what comes next. Can Hogwarts do that?"
Minerva wanted to say yes. Wanted to insist that Harry would be safe here, in the castle, surrounded by teachers who cared about him. But she looked at Dumbledore's portrait, and the old wizard shook his head very slightly.
*He's beyond what we can teach him now,* Dumbledore's expression seemed to say. *Let him go. Let him become what he needs to be.*
"How long?" Minerva asked finally.
"Three months, initially," Superman said. "On Oa for Harry, Odym for Luna. Intensive training with the Corps. Learning control, discipline, the responsibilities that come with the ring. Then they can return, continue their education, live their lives. But with the tools to handle whatever comes next."
"And if they refuse? If Harry says he wants to stay here?"
"Then we respect his choice," Diana said. "We're not conscripting him. We're offering training. But Professor—" Her voice softened. "—Harry Potter walked into a forest to die tonight. He was ready to sacrifice everything to save others. That's exactly the kind of person who *needs* this training. Because people like that don't stop. They keep trying to save everyone, keep putting themselves in danger, until eventually they succeed in getting themselves killed. We've seen it happen. Too many times."
The office was very quiet.
"I'll need to speak with him," Minerva said finally. "And Miss Lovegood. This is their decision."
"Of course," Superman agreed. "We wouldn't have it any other way."
"And Mr. Potter needs rest first. He's exhausted. Traumatized. Grieving. I won't have him making life-changing decisions while in shock."
"Agreed," Diana said. "Take whatever time you need. But Professor? Don't take too long. The universe moves quickly for Power Ring wielders. And the longer Harry goes without proper training, the more danger he's in."
---
**Hogwarts, Hospital Wing**
Harry had been installed in a private room at Madam Pomfrey's insistence. The Hospital Wing was overflowing with casualties—some from the battle, some from old injuries that had been magically concealed and were now making themselves known—and the mediwitch was triaging with ruthless efficiency.
But Harry Potter, who had defeated Voldemort, had been given a private room and strict orders to rest.
He wasn't resting.
He was sitting on the bed, still wearing the armor of green light, staring at his hands. The Starheart pulsed on his finger, patient and watchful. Every few seconds, he would flex his fingers, and constructs would materialize—small things, harmless things. A snitch made of light. A stag that pranced across the bedside table. A lily flower that bloomed and faded.
*You're testing the limits,* the Starheart observed. *Good. You should understand what you're capable of.*
"I'm terrified of what I'm capable of," Harry said quietly.
*Also good. Fear is healthy. It's what you do with that fear that matters.*
The door opened, and Luna drifted in, literally drifted—she was floating three inches off the ground on a cushion of blue light, looking perfectly content. "Hello, Harry. You should eat something. Madam Pomfrey is getting that look she gets when people ignore her medical advice."
"Not hungry," Harry said automatically.
"Your body disagrees. I can see your aura—the blue light shows me these things—and you're running on fumes." Luna settled into the chair beside his bed, her blue ring glowing softly. "Also, Ron asked me to check on you. He's with his family right now. They're... saying goodbye to Fred."
The grief hit fresh and sharp.
"I should be there," Harry said, starting to stand.
"You should be here," Luna corrected gently. "The Weasleys need time with just family. They'll want to see you later. Right now, they need each other." She tilted her head. "You're feeling guilty. That you survived and Fred didn't. That you have this power and couldn't save him. That you were chosen for something amazing while others are mourning."
"How do you—"
"Blue Lantern," Luna reminded him. "Hope shows me what people are feeling. What they're afraid of. What they wish for." Her eyes were kind. "Harry, Fred's death isn't your fault. You didn't choose for him to die. You chose to stop Voldemort, and that was the right choice. But it doesn't erase the cost."
"Tell me something I don't know," Harry said bitterly.
"The Justice League wants to train us," Luna said. "In space. On planets called Oa and Odym where the Lantern Corps are based. Superman and Wonder Woman are talking to Professor McGonagall about it right now."
Harry's head snapped up. "What?"
"Training. For three months. To learn how to use our rings properly. How to be Lanterns instead of just people with magic jewelry." Luna examined her own ring thoughtfully. "I think we should go."
"Luna, we have school. N.E.W.T.s. Our lives—"
"Will still be here when we get back," Luna interrupted. "Harry, you're carrying the Starheart. Do you know how rare that is? How many beings in the entire universe have wielded it? Three. Alan Scott. One other person whose name is lost to history. And now you. That's not something you can learn from Charms textbooks."
"But leaving everyone. After everything that's happened—"
"Would be healthy," Luna said firmly. "Harry, everyone here sees you as the boy who defeated Voldemort. They're going to want you to be that person all the time. To be the hero. The symbol. The answer to every problem. That's exhausting. Going to space means you can be Harry Potter, Green Lantern instead of Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. You can learn and grow and figure out who you are when you're not carrying everyone's expectations."
Harry looked at her. At this strange, dreamy girl who had somehow become one of his closest friends. Who saw the world differently than anyone else and was somehow always exactly right.
"When did you get so wise?" he asked.
"I've always been wise," Luna said serenely. "People just didn't notice because I was talking about Nargles at the time." She stood, drifting back toward the door. "Think about it, Harry. But don't think too long. I have a feeling the universe doesn't wait for people to be ready."
She left, and Harry was alone with his thoughts and the Starheart.
*She's right, you know,* the Starheart said. *About all of it. You need training. You need distance. You need to become more than just the boy who defeated a dark lord.*
"But what if I fail?" Harry whispered. "What if I'm not good enough? What if the Starheart made a mistake choosing me?"
*I don't make mistakes,* the Starheart said, and there was absolute conviction in its voice. *I'm three and a half billion years old, Harry Potter. I've seen civilizations rise and fall. I've witnessed heroes and villains across countless worlds. And I chose you. Not because you're perfect. Not because you're the most powerful. But because when faced with death, you chose love. You chose sacrifice. You chose to be better than your fear.*
*That's what a Green Lantern is. Not someone who has no fear—someone who acts despite it. And Harry? You've been doing that your entire life.*
Harry sat with that for a long moment.
Then he flexed his hand, and the green armor faded, dissolving into motes of light. Underneath, he was just Harry—thin, exhausted, seventeen years old and carrying the weight of two wars.
But the Starheart remained on his finger, glowing softly.
"Okay," Harry said to the empty room, to the ring, to the universe that had decided he was worth choosing. "Okay. I'll go. I'll train. I'll become whatever I need to be."
*Good,* the Starheart said, satisfied. *Now eat something. Luna was right about that too.*
Despite everything, Harry laughed.
---
**Oa, Citadel of the Guardians**
The Guardians of the Universe sat in a circle, twelve ancient beings who had witnessed the birth and death of countless stars. They were immortal, emotionless, dedicated to order and peace through the use of the Green Lantern Corps.
They were also, currently, arguing.
"The Starheart has chosen," Ganthet said, his small blue form radiating calm despite the chaos around him. "This is unprecedented but not unwelcome. The Startheart's power, when properly wielded, rivals the Central Battery itself."
"Which is precisely why we should be concerned," Appa Ali Apsa countered. "A seventeen-year-old human with no training, wielding Alan Scott's ring? The potential for disaster is astronomical."
"The potential for greatness is equally high," Sayd argued. She had always been the most... emotional... of the Guardians, which meant she displayed approximately three percent more feeling than her peers. "The Starheart chose this Harry Potter for a reason. We should respect that choice."
"The Starheart is not infallible," another Guardian said. "It's powered by magic, not the emotional spectrum. It operates on different principles. We cannot predict how it will interact with its chosen wielder."
"Then we observe," Ganthet said. "We allow Hal Jordan to bring the boy here. We test him. We evaluate his control, his willpower, his capacity for growth. And then we make an informed decision about whether—"
A holographic projection materialized in the center of the circle. Hal Jordan's face, larger than life, looking tired but determined.
"Guardians," Hal said without preamble. "I'm bringing him. Harry Potter. The Starheart's chosen. He's agreed to training. Three months, initially. I need authorization to transport a civilian human to Oa."
"Jordan," Appa Ali Apsa began, "we have not yet—"
"He beat a dark lord," Hal interrupted, which one did not do to the Guardians lightly. "Using the Starheart. With zero training. In less than an hour. Guardians, I watched this kid construct shields that could block Killing Curses. I watched him redirect dozens of spells simultaneously. I watched him *catch* a magical death curse with his bare hands and dispel it." He paused. "Alan Scott trained for decades to reach that level of control. This kid did it on instinct."
The Guardians exchanged looks. On their faces—such as they had—something that might have been concern flickered.
"If he's that powerful already," Sayd said slowly, "then he needs proper instruction immediately. Before he harms himself or others accidentally."
"Exactly," Hal agreed. "So I'm bringing him. Tonight. Along with Luna Lovegood, the new Blue Lantern. The Blue Corps has already agreed to train her on Odym. I'm asking for the same courtesy for Harry."
"This is highly irregular," Appa Ali Apsa said.
"Yeah, well, a seventeen-year-old human bonding with the Starheart is also highly irregular," Hal shot back. "We're past regular at this point. We're firmly in unprecedented territory. So either we help this kid learn to control his power, or we wait for him to accidentally create a black hole while trying to make his morning tea. Your choice."
More looks exchanged.
Finally, Ganthet spoke. "Bring him, Jordan. But he will be evaluated. If we determine he is unfit to wield the Starheart—"
"You won't," Hal said with absolute confidence. "Trust me, Guardians. This is one of the good ones."
The hologram flickered out.
The Guardians sat in silence for a long moment.
"We should prepare the training facilities," Sayd said finally. "And alert the senior Lanterns. If this Harry Potter is truly as powerful as Jordan suggests—"
"Then we're about to witness either the rise of a legendary Green Lantern," Ganthet finished, "or a catastrophic failure of unprecedented scale."
"Let us hope for the former," Appa Ali Apsa said dryly. "I do so dislike catastrophes."
In the training rooms far below, the constructs used for testing new recruits hummed to life, readying themselves for the arrival of something unprecedented.
The Starheart was coming to Oa.
And nothing would ever be quite the same.
---
**Qward, Antimatter Universe**
Thaal Sinestro stood on the highest tower of the Weaponers' forge, watching parallel lightning tear across a sky that was never meant to exist. The antimatter universe was a place of inversions, where the normal rules bent backward on themselves, where creation and destruction danced in eternal partnership.
It was, Sinestro had decided long ago, far more honest than the positive matter universe with its pretensions of order.
His yellow ring pulsed on his finger—not with alarm, but with *interest*. And when a Yellow Lantern ring showed interest rather than feeding on ambient fear, it meant something significant had happened.
"Show me," Sinestro commanded, and the ring obeyed.
A holographic display materialized before him, showing energy signatures, chronal distortions, the unmistakable fingerprint of something ancient waking up. The data resolved itself into a location—Earth, Sector 2814, the backwater planet that had somehow produced an inordinate number of significant beings.
And at the center of the disturbance: *the Starheart*.
Sinestro's hand clenched involuntarily.
Alan Scott's ring. The first Green Lantern of Earth, the one who had predated the Corps by decades, whose power source had been magic instead of the Central Battery. Sinestro had met Scott once, during a joint operation in the 1950s. The man had been... formidable. Not as disciplined as a proper Lantern—magic made him sloppy, willing to rely on instinct instead of training—but undeniably powerful.
More powerful, if Sinestro was honest with himself, than most of the Corps.
The Starheart had gone dormant with Scott's death. The Guardians had been relieved, Sinestro remembered. They didn't like things they couldn't control, and the Starheart answered to no one. It was chaos wearing the color green.
But now it was awake again.
And according to his ring's analysis, it had chosen someone new.
"Details," Sinestro said sharply.
*Wielder: Harry James Potter. Age: Seventeen standard years. Species: Human. Location: Earth, European sector. Power signature: Unprecedented. Threat assessment: Calculating...*
The ring paused for longer than Sinestro liked.
*Threat assessment: Extreme.*
Sinestro's eyebrows rose. His ring didn't assign "extreme" threat ratings lightly. It was powered by fear, by the terror of beings across the universe, and something that could genuinely frighten a Yellow Lantern ring was worth paying attention to.
"What makes this human so threatening?" he asked.
The ring showed him footage—somehow it had already acquired footage, pulled from ambient surveillance or perhaps from the fear-memories of those who had witnessed the events. Sinestro watched a thin boy walk through a forest, resignation and determination warring on his young face. Watched the Starheart arrive in a cascade of green fire. Watched the boy's transformation from victim to victor.
And then watched him *fight*.
Sinestro had seen many warriors in his centuries of life. Had fought alongside the Corps, had trained some of the finest Lanterns in recent history. He knew what proper construct work looked like, knew the discipline required to maintain complex forms under combat stress.
This boy had none of that discipline.
And yet.
The constructs were *alive* in a way that standard Lantern constructs never were. They moved with organic fluidity, responded to threats before the boy consciously commanded them, adapted and evolved mid-combat. This wasn't the methodical, calculated warfare of the Corps.
This was *instinct* married to cosmic power.
Sinestro watched Harry Potter catch a Killing Curse—*catch it*, with his bare hand, something that should have been impossible—and felt something he hadn't experienced in years.
Professional curiosity.
"The Guardians will want to control him," Sinestro murmured to himself. "They'll bring him to Oa, teach him their rigid doctrine, force him into their narrow definition of what a Green Lantern should be. They'll try to sand off all those rough edges, make him predictable. Safe."
*And they will fail,* whispered the part of him that had once been the greatest Green Lantern in the Corps, before he'd discovered that fear was so much more effective than will.
The Starheart didn't work like regular rings. It wasn't connected to the Central Battery, didn't answer to the Guardians, couldn't be controlled through the normal chains of command. Which meant Harry Potter, whether he knew it or not, was essentially a free agent wearing the colors of the Corps.
That made him dangerous.
That also made him *interesting*.
"Arkillo," Sinestro called, not raising his voice. Sound carried differently in the antimatter universe, and his second-in-command was never far away.
The massive alien materialized from the shadows—eight feet of muscle and fang, his yellow ring glowing against his dark hide. Arkillo had been a gentle creature once, before Sinestro had taught him to weaponize his fear of disappointing others. Now he was one of the most effective Yellow Lanterns in the Corps.
"Master," Arkillo rumbled. His voice was always a growl, even when trying to be respectful.
"The Starheart has chosen a new wielder. A human child named Harry Potter." Sinestro turned from his observation of the antimatter sky. "I want to know everything about him. His history. His traumas. His fears. What drives him. What breaks him. Everything."
"You plan to recruit him?" Arkillo's tone suggested he thought this was ambitious even by Sinestro's standards.
"I plan to *understand* him," Sinestro corrected. "The Starheart chose this boy for a reason. It woke up after a decade of dormancy, crossed space to find him, and bonded with him in what I can only describe as a mystical marriage. That kind of synchronicity doesn't happen by accident." He paused. "And unlike the Guardians, I'm not arrogant enough to assume I know what that reason is without investigation."
"The Guardians will train him."
"Yes. They'll try to make him into a proper little soldier. Teach him the Oan way. Drill discipline and protocol into him until he can recite the regulations in his sleep." Sinestro smiled, and it was not a kind expression. "But the Starheart won't allow it. Magic doesn't respect protocol, Arkillo. It responds to emotion, to belief, to the raw will of the user. And this boy—" He gestured at the frozen image of Harry, wreathed in green fire, facing down a dark lord. "—this boy has *belief*. Conviction. The absolute certainty that he's right, even when facing death."
"That sounds like will, not fear."
"Ah, but there's where you're wrong." Sinestro moved closer to the hologram, studying Harry's face in the moment before he'd struck the final blow. "Look at his eyes. See that? That's terror. Pure, absolute terror. He's afraid—of failing, of dying, of losing the people he loves. But he fights *anyway*. That's not fearlessness, Arkillo. That's courage. And courage only exists in the presence of fear."
He dismissed the hologram with a gesture.
"The Guardians will teach him to suppress his fear. To master it through will and discipline. They'll tell him that a Green Lantern must be confident, must project certainty, must never show weakness." Sinestro's voice dropped. "But I could teach him to *use* his fear. To weaponize it. To transform every terror into fuel for his power."
"You want to turn him," Arkillo said slowly. "To make him a Yellow Lantern."
"I want to show him options," Sinestro corrected. "The Guardians will present their way as the only way. I'll simply demonstrate that there are alternatives. That fear isn't something to be conquered—it's something to be *embraced*. That the Yellow Light is stronger, more honest, more *effective* than the Green."
"The Starheart won't allow him to switch Corps."
"Won't it?" Sinestro raised an eyebrow. "The Starheart is powered by magic, Arkillo. Magic is flexible, adaptive. It responds to the core truth of its wielder. Right now, Harry Potter wields it through will because that's what he needed to defeat his enemy. But will isn't his only truth." He began to pace, his mind racing through possibilities. "According to my ring's analysis, this boy spent his childhood abused and neglected. Was hunted by a dark lord for his entire life. Watched friends die. Walked to his own execution because he thought it was the only way to save others. That's not someone who's conquered their fear—that's someone who's *drowning* in it. Someone who acts anyway because the alternative is unthinkable."
"You're saying the Starheart made a mistake?"
"I'm saying the Starheart chose someone complex. Multi-faceted. Someone who could potentially wield *any* color of the emotional spectrum, depending on circumstance." Sinestro stopped, turning to face his lieutenant. "The Guardians will see a recruit to be molded. I see a potential ally. Or, failing that, a powerful enemy who should be understood before he becomes a threat."
"When do we move?"
"We don't. Not yet." Sinestro shook his head. "First, we observe. Let the Guardians do their initial training. Let them reveal their limitations, their dogma, their narrow-minded approach to power. Let Harry Potter experience the Corps' rigidity firsthand. And when he inevitably chafes against it—because he *will* chafe, Arkillo, beings of true power always do—then we make contact."
"And offer him what?"
"Truth," Sinestro said simply. "The truth the Guardians won't tell him—that fear is not weakness. That sometimes, the only way to protect what you love is to make your enemies terrified to touch it. That order maintained through law is fragile, but order maintained through fear is *eternal*."
He looked back at the antimatter sky, at the parallel lightning that reminded him of green constructs and yellow rings dancing in combat.
"Harry Potter is going to change the balance of power in this universe, Arkillo. The only question is whether that change serves chaos or order. I intend to ensure it serves the latter." He paused. "Even if the Guardians would call my methods chaos."
"They already do," Arkillo pointed out.
"Yes, well. The Guardians have always lacked imagination."
Sinestro raised his ring, and yellow light blazed. Not constructs—just power, raw and undiluted, painting the tower in shades of fear and conviction.
"Begin surveillance. I want eyes on Potter at all times. Track his training, his progress, his relationships. Monitor his emotional state. And Arkillo? Be subtle. The last thing we need is Hal Jordan realizing we're interested. He's still naive enough to think he can 'save' me from myself."
"Understood, Master." Arkillo vanished back into the shadows.
Sinestro remained on the tower, thinking.
The Starheart. Alan Scott's legacy, now passed to a child-soldier who'd been forged in trauma and loss. The Guardians would see a weapon to be refined. Hal Jordan would see someone to be protected.
But Sinestro saw something else entirely.
He saw a mirror.
He'd been young once, full of conviction and will, believing absolutely in the Green Lantern Corps and their mission. He'd been the greatest of them, the exemplar all others aspired to match. And then he'd learned the hard way that will alone couldn't protect the things he loved. That sometimes, fear was necessary. That sometimes, to save people, you had to be willing to *terrify* them into submission.
The Guardians had called him a tyrant for that. Had stripped his ring, branded him a renegade, created a power battery fueled by fear just to spite his teachings.
And then he'd claimed that battery for himself and proved them all wrong.
Harry Potter was walking the same path Sinestro had walked decades ago—believing he could save everyone through sheer determination, through sacrifice, through being the hero everyone needed. It was noble. Admirable.
Also completely unsustainable.
Eventually, Harry Potter would fail. Would lose someone he couldn't save. Would face a threat his will alone couldn't overcome. And in that moment of absolute despair, he would have a choice: break, or transform into something harder.
Sinestro intended to be there for that moment.
Not to recruit him—you couldn't recruit someone like Harry Potter, his ring had been right about the threat assessment—but to *guide* him. To show him that there was a path between heroism and villainy, between the Guardians' rigid order and the chaos they claimed to fight.
A path where fear and will worked together, where protection and control were two sides of the same coin.
Where power was used not despite its terrible nature, but *because* of it.
"Welcome to the great game, Harry Potter," Sinestro murmured to the antimatter sky. "Let's see if you're as interesting as your predecessor."
Behind him, in the depths of the Weaponers' forge, Yellow Lantern rings began to pulse with new instructions. Surveillance protocols activated. Intelligence networks stirred to life across the universe.
And on Earth, in a castle hospital wing, Harry Potter slept and dreamed of green fire.
Unaware that he'd just attracted the attention of the most dangerous former Green Lantern in history.
Unaware that his training on Oa would be observed by eyes he'd never see.
Unaware that the next chapter of his story had already been written by someone else.
The Starheart hummed on his finger, keeping its own counsel.
It had chosen Harry Potter knowing exactly what was coming.
And it had chosen correctly.
---
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